Fast approaching an age
When the glory of the day
Collides with the shadows of tomorrow,
Inside, outside, all through,
All around-
Permeating, penetrating,
Overwhelming this fragile,
And yet so persistent
Desire to rest in the enveloping arms
Of this velvet universe,
Just to catch a moment
Of rest, to restore, revive,
Come alive, awake
And take the first step
On an untrodden path.
But lurking in dark places,
Waiting for the chance to steal
A tainted victory-
This manic-driven need
To know, to defeat the unknown,
To replace the peace of mind
With unrest, uncertainty,
Taking doubt to the head of the pack,
Causing instinct to be derailed
And misdirected,
Tricked into believing
That frantic is the only pace,
And the race to know all
Must be won
Before the game is done,
Before I figure out
That I know better than to play.
So I live, then, to be fed?
Shoved, crammed into my head,
Junk food for the soul,
Pork rinds on the way to my heart,
Blocking the arteries
And stopping truth from flowing
Through my veins,
The truth being that
I don’t need to know.
Let go, look inside and find
Where the madness all began-
Was it as children? As young rebels?
The onset of maturity?
Somewhere in there lies the seed
That began to root,
That grew into the twisting
Thorny vines, with tempting blooms,
Emitting a potent, intoxicating scent
Strong enough to cloud, to kill the common sense
Some humans still managed to keep
Despite evolution-
And so we often miss
The beginning of fatality,
The stench of rotting futility,
The moment we begin to believe
That we must be driven,
Forever and always driven-
A prison, a quicksand trap,
A lie disguised-
“Eat this and become wise!”
Do you not recognize this deceit?
The warning? Surely you see
There is no truth to this,
No happiness in knowing,
Accepting that you must be fed,
Believing
That you must know more than you can process
Before the proper stages,
The ages that bring tempered wisdom.
There is no benefit, no comfort to be had,
Nothing can compare to learning
Slowly, absorbing, taking time
To love the slow,
Ponder away, late at night,
Break the deadlines
Of sleeping, waking, eating, working, dying.
Disrupt the schedule,
Sip on a good cup of coffee,
Ignore the urge to gulp down life
In grotesque proportions,
Which leave you prone at any given moment
To choke to death
On that first bite of apple,
Was it worth all that,
Chew on this, worth the risk
To fulfill your quest
For all the knowledge,
Which does nothing
But bring you to the knees of ruin?
Make you weak and tired and sad?
I want to be boundless,
Free from the constant hounding,
Free to explore
What gifts I’ve already been given,
Unburdened of the pressure
To run off the cliff with the rest.
I want to walk calmly to the edge,
Stop and look down,
Gaze in watery-eyed wonder
At the stunning beauty below me,
Around me, inside me,
The pounding ocean waves,
The yawning chasm,
The deep, green valley.
All those who run,
They close their eyes as they fall,
And will never get to see
What I will see that same day,
And in the end,
All they think they know
Will never compare
To what I learned along the way.
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Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Retrospeculative
I’ve expressed it best
When I’ve let go of the mess
In my head,
Then I’ve been lead
To that place inside
Where it’s all opened wide.
I’ve spread my mental wings
To encompass everything
I’ve ever learned, been told,
And, at 37 years old,
I can say with great conviction
That I need no benediction,
No prayers or supplications,
No loyalty to any nations,
I am a world child,
Both tempestuous and mild,
In touch with my inner universe,
Filled with love, about to burst.
And I’ve often, with my pen,
Reached inside and found my Zen,
Yes, I have studied a flower,
Whimsically whiled away the hours,
Gone full circle many times
To learn that life is sublime.
I’ve drawn pictures and conclusions,
Been caught up in crowds and in seclusion,
Followed my dreams
And mountain streams,
Been a borrower and a lender,
A receiver and a sender.
I’ve been reinvented and changed,
I’ve been eclectic and strange,
I’ve lost my way,
I’ve lost whole days,
I’ve found myself, found release,
I’ve learned how to steal moments of peace.
Much can be said about what I’ve gained
Standing in the driving rain,
Tooling down back country roads,
Examining bugs and communing with toads,
Bathing nude in quiet pools,
Talking with sages and also with fools.
I’ve said what I had to,
Done what I could do
To become all I am,
Gone from Miss to Ma’am,
So much I have grown
And come into my own.
I’m all I want to be,
And, put plain and simply,
I’ve become wholly and utterly
Me.
When I’ve let go of the mess
In my head,
Then I’ve been lead
To that place inside
Where it’s all opened wide.
I’ve spread my mental wings
To encompass everything
I’ve ever learned, been told,
And, at 37 years old,
I can say with great conviction
That I need no benediction,
No prayers or supplications,
No loyalty to any nations,
I am a world child,
Both tempestuous and mild,
In touch with my inner universe,
Filled with love, about to burst.
And I’ve often, with my pen,
Reached inside and found my Zen,
Yes, I have studied a flower,
Whimsically whiled away the hours,
Gone full circle many times
To learn that life is sublime.
I’ve drawn pictures and conclusions,
Been caught up in crowds and in seclusion,
Followed my dreams
And mountain streams,
Been a borrower and a lender,
A receiver and a sender.
I’ve been reinvented and changed,
I’ve been eclectic and strange,
I’ve lost my way,
I’ve lost whole days,
I’ve found myself, found release,
I’ve learned how to steal moments of peace.
Much can be said about what I’ve gained
Standing in the driving rain,
Tooling down back country roads,
Examining bugs and communing with toads,
Bathing nude in quiet pools,
Talking with sages and also with fools.
I’ve said what I had to,
Done what I could do
To become all I am,
Gone from Miss to Ma’am,
So much I have grown
And come into my own.
I’m all I want to be,
And, put plain and simply,
I’ve become wholly and utterly
Me.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Excerpts From An Early Morning Acid Trip
This is an old one, more than 10, maybe 15, years ago, back in the day when I could do such things and not have to worry about the terrible after effects. It amazes me still that I was capable of producing this while peaking on acid, not so much the words, but that I could physically perform the act of writing. This was the last time I ever did the drug, and I'm glad it was so profound, but I don't miss doing it. I'm kind of in that state naturally now most days! I sense elements of Walt Whitman in here, and I must admit, I'm a huge fan. Anyway, enjoy!
How dare my ugly, brutish, clomp-clomp
Footsteps disturb the routine morning birdsong,
I, sad intruder, awestruck observer,
Watching the world awaken to its own rhythm,
Slow, in its own time,
Whether I pass by to witness it or not.
I clumsily trod upon delicate Queen Anne's Lace,
Humble it beneath my feet
When it is I who should be humbled today.
I concentrate on each step, so as not to harm more living things.
And every time I look up, I see the world is a whole different colour.
I hear the day,
Feel on my bare skin the cool, calming
Touch of early morning peace
And I bathe in the essence of the moment.
Today I came to the woods to find God,
And I found green,
A more potent sign there never has been.
The darkness of this green, forest green,
Primeval, a full canopy of summer growth,
I was naive to believe the blast of day sun
Could penetrate this realm.
So a moment, then, to give over my thoughts to green:
Green is a sound,
It drapes over me,
Wraps around me,
Fills me, moves me,
A sweet, velvety song
Sung in low notes, hushed tones,
That is the sound of green.
Green is a feeling,
Fine scotch setting the tongue afire,
Then numbing it,
It can be felt stirring in the heart,
And though it can be ignored, abused, or embraced,
It stays there, waiting.
It is the feeling serenity leaves in your soul
When it rests inside you for a spell.
I am feeling so very green today,
I see the spirit in green,
See the cosmic signature it leaves,
The imprint, the aura around all life,
All that lives.
I see the green around me, in me,
Through me, all a part of me,
Part of the whole of all.
I came to the woods today looking
For inspiration,
And I found the miracles of living,
Have seen all the faces on what lives,
Trees, ground, sky, leaves, flowers, me,
Connected, bound, put together for a purpose,
A single-minded purpose-
To discover our individual gods, to become aware
Of ourselves, of the green,
Of the joy of being, of living,
Of taking every moment to heart,
Of life, all life, every life.
I have just relearned to love green,
To love life,
And myself,
And it is all one and the same.
As I leave behind the peace in the green woods,
As I step from the gloom of deep forest,
I discover there are so many colours to wonder, to marvel at,
I watch as a butterfly bounces along in its chaotic, maddening way.
Stumbling, I try to follow, to be one with its journey,
Only to learn I am no butterfly.
So I study for a long time and I conclude that
Nothing on Earth flies more beautifully
Than yellow.
How dare my ugly, brutish, clomp-clomp
Footsteps disturb the routine morning birdsong,
I, sad intruder, awestruck observer,
Watching the world awaken to its own rhythm,
Slow, in its own time,
Whether I pass by to witness it or not.
I clumsily trod upon delicate Queen Anne's Lace,
Humble it beneath my feet
When it is I who should be humbled today.
I concentrate on each step, so as not to harm more living things.
And every time I look up, I see the world is a whole different colour.
I hear the day,
Feel on my bare skin the cool, calming
Touch of early morning peace
And I bathe in the essence of the moment.
Today I came to the woods to find God,
And I found green,
A more potent sign there never has been.
The darkness of this green, forest green,
Primeval, a full canopy of summer growth,
I was naive to believe the blast of day sun
Could penetrate this realm.
So a moment, then, to give over my thoughts to green:
Green is a sound,
It drapes over me,
Wraps around me,
Fills me, moves me,
A sweet, velvety song
Sung in low notes, hushed tones,
That is the sound of green.
Green is a feeling,
Fine scotch setting the tongue afire,
Then numbing it,
It can be felt stirring in the heart,
And though it can be ignored, abused, or embraced,
It stays there, waiting.
It is the feeling serenity leaves in your soul
When it rests inside you for a spell.
I am feeling so very green today,
I see the spirit in green,
See the cosmic signature it leaves,
The imprint, the aura around all life,
All that lives.
I see the green around me, in me,
Through me, all a part of me,
Part of the whole of all.
I came to the woods today looking
For inspiration,
And I found the miracles of living,
Have seen all the faces on what lives,
Trees, ground, sky, leaves, flowers, me,
Connected, bound, put together for a purpose,
A single-minded purpose-
To discover our individual gods, to become aware
Of ourselves, of the green,
Of the joy of being, of living,
Of taking every moment to heart,
Of life, all life, every life.
I have just relearned to love green,
To love life,
And myself,
And it is all one and the same.
As I leave behind the peace in the green woods,
As I step from the gloom of deep forest,
I discover there are so many colours to wonder, to marvel at,
I watch as a butterfly bounces along in its chaotic, maddening way.
Stumbling, I try to follow, to be one with its journey,
Only to learn I am no butterfly.
So I study for a long time and I conclude that
Nothing on Earth flies more beautifully
Than yellow.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
I’ll Take A Cup Of Happy And That Happy Muffin, Please
We, as a nation, as a species, are hurting. I can see that plainly. There is such a deep crying out coming from so many souls. Countless people are immune to the sound, for they care little for others or their pain. Some hear it, but cannot bring themselves to react, for fear of feeling. Some, though, hear the wailings and have to react, have to feel, have to try to heal. We cannot be any other way. I don’t know where any of you fall, but I know I am a feeler.
And I feel this suffering, and I know how it is to live in a constant state of sacrifice, when every moment is a struggle. And I know sometimes you have to ask the questions like, “when can I just get around to the living, the peace, for just a little while?” It’s tough going when all the going is geared towards survival only, towards hanging onto what you have in this world, what little anyone has in their worlds. For some, that’s a home, for some it’s a job, for some it’s happiness, and for others, it’s their health. Looking for rays of sunshine in the gloom gets to be a tiresome affair day after day, as circumstances keep beating you over the head like mallets in a whack-a-mole game. So people hunker down and do what they can to avoid the pain of the whacking, and maybe they even throw dirt over their hidey-holes to soften the blows. Sure, it stops the mallets, but it also blocks the light, and a life of darkness becomes all there is. Struggle is not always inspiring or beautiful-it can be bleak and painful.
I try hard to give the world words of encouragement, sparks to start a fire in the darkness. A friend asked once, “Are you always as happy as your writings make you out to be?” Of course I’m not. I have gloomy, doomy thoughts, morose moments, times when the daily struggle gets to me, too. And yes, I write about that as well. But I tend not to share that and I keep it in private journals where it belongs, and I will tell you why. The world expresses enough negativity. People are far too readily sharing the worst of their lives. It’s too easy to give the gifts of sorrow, anger, and pain. I relish in being the contrary one, the outcast always. And I need the challenge of finding the joy, the light., for that is where I find my happy. And I hope it helps to heal someone, helps them put aside what’s eating at them for just a bit, so they can see the beauty of this world that I go out and seek, hunt down and capture in words for them. It’s not that I don’t feel the hurt or acknowledge the suffering, I do. It’s that I am here to try counteracting it, to find ways through it, or around it. I’ve learned how to change my way of viewing life and its peaks and valleys, and I try to share what I’ve learned, for my own benefit, sure, but for the benefit of all humanity, too.
In the darkest of times for a person, it is very difficult to find a happy. But, much of happy finding comes from within, comes from how one chooses to see things. That sounds absurdly simple, but sometimes, it’s not that easy to do. When dark thoughts occupy the majority of one’s days, and dark deeds confront a person at every turn, it’s a real dilemma. How does one find hope when the bills are overdue, the job is gone, the house is in foreclosure, or the illness takes over the body? Happiness does have to take a back seat sometimes. And I do believe that total immersion into the blackness is part of the human condition. We all have to dive into it fully once in a while, for that is how we sort it out in the long run-we get to know it, become familiar with its nature and source. It’s how we learn and how we learn to cope.
There are a few constants that help pull me through even the bleakest of times, and I will gladly share them with all of you, if it will in some way help. Here is some of what I’ve learned in my time upon the Earth.
There are good people all around us, and many will give all they are capable of giving to help you through almost any situation. There are positive, energetic folks who know how to help or how to find you help, and often, all you need to do is start talking. That draws these good people to you when you need them.
Most situations are temporary, and if you can find a way to hang on long enough, it will pass and you can think your way through it.
Tragedy and hardships are universal-no one has a monopoly or exclusive rights to such things. If all hits bottom for you, know that you are in good company.
If you cannot find a way to have a good day, shoot for a good moment. The littlest thing can often provide mountains of comfort. As silly as it may sound, count your blessings literally, especially the smaller ones. If you have a home, your health, someone or something to love and who loves you, or any combination thereof, you already have the best blessings of all. But there are less obvious ones-a patch of sunny yellow dandelions, a television commercial that makes you laugh, a cat or dog or any animal who shows you affection, a singing bird in the cold rain, a pair of great looking shoes that are comfortable, too, a window to gaze out of and daydream, a shiny penny on the sidewalk in front of you. The littlest blessings can add up to a whole bunch of smiles, and it matters only to you, and that’s important as well.
Keep some moments exclusively to yourself, and guard them against attackers. There will always be someone waiting to steal your happy. Believe it or not, they cannot. Only you can allow it to be stolen. Don’t be a victim, if that’s at all within your power. People can do things to you, bad, terrible things, but how you get through it, and over it, is all up to you, it’s all inside of you. In a world where so little is within your capacity to control, your reaction is the one thing that is solely up to you.
If you are happy, spread it far and wide. Give it to others who really need it, and the happy will feed off the happy until it becomes true joy. Joy is a light that is very difficult to extinguish.
Cry when you need to, and don’t be ashamed of it, and don’t make apologies for it. Tears are a blessing, too. Don’t expect anyone else to understand your tears, but be grateful and thank them profusely if they do.
Whatever your means are, live within them and don’t over reach too far. It’s great to progress and to want to progress further, but it should never become a source of unease or anguish. All goals worth reaching take time, so take the time to get into the process of the whole affair.
It’s wonderful, and important, to love yourself, but it’s just as important to discipline yourself. Overindulgence of any sort brings nothing but guilt, poor habits, and often, ill health. Yell at yourself sometimes, parent yourself, tell yourself no, all the while knowing it’s for the betterment of yourself.
Will any of this solve your troubles? Probably not. Problem solving is a highly personal matter, and for the most part, I or anyone else cannot do that for you. But these little tips can help you see your problems in a more manageable way, and can help your attitude lighten in the face of your troubles. The world can be a very frightening, uninviting place, and life can kick anyone in the teeth repeatedly. But you are not alone, and you are not as helpless as you may feel.
I’m still learning, oh, am I learning! My biggest challenges are likely still to come. And when they come, I must face them and learn more. One thing I still have much to learn about it walking away, for I tend to think everything can be fixed, but seldom recognize that sometimes, the best fix is to walk away. The years have been ticking by me, and I’ve tried to hang onto as much as I can, to remember the important bits. Somehow, I fell like if I give them over to the world, they will be useful. And even if these bits of wisdom, of knowledge, end up being utterly useless, I’m ok with that, because I’ll have fulfilled my own internal drive to share these things; I’ll still have met my personal obligations, I’ll still have lived my life with purpose. And that, too, is a blessing to be counted.
Love and light and great happys to you all,
Tanya
And I feel this suffering, and I know how it is to live in a constant state of sacrifice, when every moment is a struggle. And I know sometimes you have to ask the questions like, “when can I just get around to the living, the peace, for just a little while?” It’s tough going when all the going is geared towards survival only, towards hanging onto what you have in this world, what little anyone has in their worlds. For some, that’s a home, for some it’s a job, for some it’s happiness, and for others, it’s their health. Looking for rays of sunshine in the gloom gets to be a tiresome affair day after day, as circumstances keep beating you over the head like mallets in a whack-a-mole game. So people hunker down and do what they can to avoid the pain of the whacking, and maybe they even throw dirt over their hidey-holes to soften the blows. Sure, it stops the mallets, but it also blocks the light, and a life of darkness becomes all there is. Struggle is not always inspiring or beautiful-it can be bleak and painful.
I try hard to give the world words of encouragement, sparks to start a fire in the darkness. A friend asked once, “Are you always as happy as your writings make you out to be?” Of course I’m not. I have gloomy, doomy thoughts, morose moments, times when the daily struggle gets to me, too. And yes, I write about that as well. But I tend not to share that and I keep it in private journals where it belongs, and I will tell you why. The world expresses enough negativity. People are far too readily sharing the worst of their lives. It’s too easy to give the gifts of sorrow, anger, and pain. I relish in being the contrary one, the outcast always. And I need the challenge of finding the joy, the light., for that is where I find my happy. And I hope it helps to heal someone, helps them put aside what’s eating at them for just a bit, so they can see the beauty of this world that I go out and seek, hunt down and capture in words for them. It’s not that I don’t feel the hurt or acknowledge the suffering, I do. It’s that I am here to try counteracting it, to find ways through it, or around it. I’ve learned how to change my way of viewing life and its peaks and valleys, and I try to share what I’ve learned, for my own benefit, sure, but for the benefit of all humanity, too.
In the darkest of times for a person, it is very difficult to find a happy. But, much of happy finding comes from within, comes from how one chooses to see things. That sounds absurdly simple, but sometimes, it’s not that easy to do. When dark thoughts occupy the majority of one’s days, and dark deeds confront a person at every turn, it’s a real dilemma. How does one find hope when the bills are overdue, the job is gone, the house is in foreclosure, or the illness takes over the body? Happiness does have to take a back seat sometimes. And I do believe that total immersion into the blackness is part of the human condition. We all have to dive into it fully once in a while, for that is how we sort it out in the long run-we get to know it, become familiar with its nature and source. It’s how we learn and how we learn to cope.
There are a few constants that help pull me through even the bleakest of times, and I will gladly share them with all of you, if it will in some way help. Here is some of what I’ve learned in my time upon the Earth.
There are good people all around us, and many will give all they are capable of giving to help you through almost any situation. There are positive, energetic folks who know how to help or how to find you help, and often, all you need to do is start talking. That draws these good people to you when you need them.
Most situations are temporary, and if you can find a way to hang on long enough, it will pass and you can think your way through it.
Tragedy and hardships are universal-no one has a monopoly or exclusive rights to such things. If all hits bottom for you, know that you are in good company.
If you cannot find a way to have a good day, shoot for a good moment. The littlest thing can often provide mountains of comfort. As silly as it may sound, count your blessings literally, especially the smaller ones. If you have a home, your health, someone or something to love and who loves you, or any combination thereof, you already have the best blessings of all. But there are less obvious ones-a patch of sunny yellow dandelions, a television commercial that makes you laugh, a cat or dog or any animal who shows you affection, a singing bird in the cold rain, a pair of great looking shoes that are comfortable, too, a window to gaze out of and daydream, a shiny penny on the sidewalk in front of you. The littlest blessings can add up to a whole bunch of smiles, and it matters only to you, and that’s important as well.
Keep some moments exclusively to yourself, and guard them against attackers. There will always be someone waiting to steal your happy. Believe it or not, they cannot. Only you can allow it to be stolen. Don’t be a victim, if that’s at all within your power. People can do things to you, bad, terrible things, but how you get through it, and over it, is all up to you, it’s all inside of you. In a world where so little is within your capacity to control, your reaction is the one thing that is solely up to you.
If you are happy, spread it far and wide. Give it to others who really need it, and the happy will feed off the happy until it becomes true joy. Joy is a light that is very difficult to extinguish.
Cry when you need to, and don’t be ashamed of it, and don’t make apologies for it. Tears are a blessing, too. Don’t expect anyone else to understand your tears, but be grateful and thank them profusely if they do.
Whatever your means are, live within them and don’t over reach too far. It’s great to progress and to want to progress further, but it should never become a source of unease or anguish. All goals worth reaching take time, so take the time to get into the process of the whole affair.
It’s wonderful, and important, to love yourself, but it’s just as important to discipline yourself. Overindulgence of any sort brings nothing but guilt, poor habits, and often, ill health. Yell at yourself sometimes, parent yourself, tell yourself no, all the while knowing it’s for the betterment of yourself.
Will any of this solve your troubles? Probably not. Problem solving is a highly personal matter, and for the most part, I or anyone else cannot do that for you. But these little tips can help you see your problems in a more manageable way, and can help your attitude lighten in the face of your troubles. The world can be a very frightening, uninviting place, and life can kick anyone in the teeth repeatedly. But you are not alone, and you are not as helpless as you may feel.
I’m still learning, oh, am I learning! My biggest challenges are likely still to come. And when they come, I must face them and learn more. One thing I still have much to learn about it walking away, for I tend to think everything can be fixed, but seldom recognize that sometimes, the best fix is to walk away. The years have been ticking by me, and I’ve tried to hang onto as much as I can, to remember the important bits. Somehow, I fell like if I give them over to the world, they will be useful. And even if these bits of wisdom, of knowledge, end up being utterly useless, I’m ok with that, because I’ll have fulfilled my own internal drive to share these things; I’ll still have met my personal obligations, I’ll still have lived my life with purpose. And that, too, is a blessing to be counted.
Love and light and great happys to you all,
Tanya
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Apart To A Part Of-My Journey Out Of Isolation
I spent many a year of my earlier life easily shattered, a big sheet of crackle-glass waiting for the hammers to come flying. It did not occur to me to duck, dodge, or otherwise perform evasive maneuvers; it did not occur to me to not be made of such fragility, either. No, my time was mostly wasted in the pursuit of wall-building and shrinking into the corners of the world. I wore my cloak of shyness with heavy shoulders, burdened, silent, trapped by insecurities that wound like greenbriars up my throat, into my mouth, and around my tongue. To avoid ridicule as much as I could, I plastered a scared smile on and shook a fistful of crazy at the world and its inhabitants, and hoped to skate through life unnoticed. But deep in my true heart, I wanted nothing more than to be noticed, recognized for what I could do. I wanted so badly to shine, to be seen. My inner conflicts all revolved around this split in my personality. So I wrote. I wrote prolifically, tried many different styles and forms. And I let the harshness of the world get to me, and I let rough times defeat me, and I cringed when they looped together and tripped me up. I went into tailspins of sorrow and self-loathing, slapped myself silly to get out of it. And I wrote. And I thought. And I fought myself into bloody wars over it. I never did ascertain the reasons for this targetism behavior. I left important pieces of me on countless floors, broken bits of Tanya heart scattered to the winds. I would wistfully gaze at groups of people at concerts, in parks, at street fairs, at malls-wishing I could be as free to laugh so loudly, to chatter on endlessly to different kinds of people, to sit with total strangers and strike up a conversation. It was an uncomfortable, sad, and lonely state of being, disconnected from, apart from humanity, apart from my own nature.
Honestly, I’m not entirely sure what triggered an abrupt, utter change in me, but I can tell you exactly when it happened. Joe and I were attending a concert, and we met some very kind, very gentle young folks, early college years I would say. We were resting between bands under a small clump of trees, out of the blistering August sun, talking and sharing the usual summer concert goodies, a ritual many of you know or know of, I’m sure. Just as the party favor was passed to my husband, I spotted a squat, ugly, toad of a man in a uniform striding purposefully up behind Joe, with a nasty glint in his eyes and a smirk on his broad, burnt face. I nudged Joe with my foot and caught his eye, and nodded. Joe got it, and immediately did the sensible thing and knocked the ember off, and swallowed down the remnants in one gulp. The expression on the toad-man’s face turned to a glower of pure hatred. He had wanted so badly to catch Joe in the act of inhaling, but he was thwarted. He snatched Joe by the arm and dragged him up, and growled, “You just had to swallow it, didn’t you, asshole?”
I rose up from the ground in a graceful move I had not been capable of executing for at least a couple of decades. Rent-a-cop supreme primo turned his hate-filled glare to the band of kids we were with and snarled, “Were you taking part in this shit, too?”
I saw a look in the eyes of these wonderful, innocent young people, and saw the goodness in them and the evil in the uniformed rat, and I felt the strangest sensation course into me, an utter calmness, a fearlessness, a voice of my very own.
Something akin to magma rising up the gullet of a volcano spilled up into my mouth from some dormant core inside, and then erupted upon toad man. I stood taller than my actual size (which towered over the troll) and pointed my finger at his chest, and said very plainly, “You will leave these kids alone. They didn’t do anything wrong. It was me and my husband, and they had nothing to do with what we did.”
His eyes hit mine, and he looked away quickly. This thing had no power over me. At that moment, I knew the truth. No one had any power over me but me. I could control my reaction, and I didn’t have to fear the results. I would accept the consequences of my actions from that point on, and I knew it. I watched this pitiful, unloved, reduced to being a pot Nazi cop at concerts creature as he pulled Joe towards the security trailer. I set my jaw, bid farewell to our friends, and stalked off behind toad cop. I felt no tears, no fears, not one bit of guilt or shame. None of that nonsense even came into my mind. I paid no attention to the procedure (writing a citation, some stern words, the taking of Joe’s ticket), but got into a discussion with an older woman over the implied acceptance of marijuana at concerts. She didn’t agree, but I made my point and she quieted down. I even launched into a soap box oration of the very nature of concerts and gatherings and the history of humankind and rituals and the importance of sharing. There were many other people awaiting their pot citations in the trailer. They cheered and agreed loudly with me. The security force stopped lecturing, and glared helplessly at me, for I had not been caught doing anything wrong. One female officer smiled at me, though. Joe was told he would have to turn in his ticket and leave the venue, but I could stay. I look incredulously at them and said, “do you honestly expect me to stay here without my husband?” and handed them my ticket. The woman cop took me and Joe outside, led us to the gate and told us to walk around the tour buses to get to the parking lot, tilting her head to a row of particular buses. We went over there, and it happened to be a hidden way to get next to the temporary barricade that many a person was traveling through. I told Joe, “let’s go over and mingle in the crowd.”
We did, and just walked right back into the venue. We hadn’t missed much of the show, and Flogging Molly was about to come onstage. It was my very first time seeing them. We ended up surrounded by happy, bouncing, moshing fans, and had the best time. It was the most memorable concert of my adult life.
That moment, that one, nearly insignificant moment in time, changed my whole outlook on people, society, my own self. The world no longer looked or felt so harsh, so intimidating. I stopped waiting for hammers, learned how to snag them out of mid-air, and drop them harmlessly to the ground. The splintered fragments of me started to come home, to mend, to become whole. I was not made of glass after all. I found my voice at last, and it was full of song and story and courage and joy. In the months after the concert, I started walking in the daylight instead of after midnight, and did not mind being seen. I talked to people, said hi to strangers, and found a genuine smile to wear. One day in that following March, I decided to go to a local bar known for its excellent Friday fish and partake with other patrons, all by myself. I even had me a beer with my fish. Time passed, and that summer’s concert was a relaxing, anxiety-free affair. We even ran into those same kids, and they remembered us, and hugged us and thanked me for standing up for them. We laughed about it and enjoyed the whole show. The next year, in April, I saw a sign about a big cleanup in Ambridge. I went to it, and met the Committee to Clean And Beautify Ambridge, and I joined. I became a part of something, something big and important. I had Holly join the junior Tamburitzans and became a part of that group of dedicated, proud parents. I have been around thousands of people in unfamiliar places and have not been scared. I became a part of a planning group to create Ambridge’s first go at a community garden, and I get to watch a dream of mine become reality, I hope. I’ve painted trash barrels and a bus stop bench and put my name on them for all to see. I’m not afraid of the attention, as long as I’ve earned the right to be noticed. It feels nice. Because I decided to be a part of something, I’ve met the most wonderful, uplifting, inspiring people. I’m surrounded by positivity and encouragement, drive and creativity, and happiness-such happiness! I cannot help but to be filled with it when I’m with these people. They are balanced, well-adjusted, confident folk, and so am I. And I still write. I write and share it now, because I’ve earned the right to be noticed for it, and I like the way it feels to give this part of me, whole parts, and still remain whole myself.
I still carry a reserved part of me, yes I do. I still don’t really relish getting on the phone with people I don’t know, or meeting someone of importance for the first time. But it’s no longer an overwhelming world to me. I can go outside my comfort zone sometimes if that’s what it takes to get stuff done. If I don’t feel right about something, I even say so now without fear. I don’t back myself into corners anymore, either. I can stand my ground, state my opinion, and offer up suggestions. I can share ideas with others, strike up a conversation with anyone willing to connect. And I will never know why this all happened, and it doesn’t matter, because I am just grateful for this new me. I like being whole, and I love having my own voice. I wear the calm flowing through me now, and I have come to learn to handle my internal raging, too, giving it up to the right people at the right time, where it can do no damage. I know when it’s ok to pull back and stop being a part of everything, too, so I can recharge and refresh and uncoil my wrappings, and be a part of only myself for a bit. Watching me come together over the last several years has been a touching experience. I very much like being a part of instead of apart from. I like being in touch with me, with you, with everyone and everything.
So I will smile, because I’ve heard when you do that, the world smiles with you, and I rather like the thought of a world full of smiles.
Love and Light on your journeys, too, my friends-
Tanya
Honestly, I’m not entirely sure what triggered an abrupt, utter change in me, but I can tell you exactly when it happened. Joe and I were attending a concert, and we met some very kind, very gentle young folks, early college years I would say. We were resting between bands under a small clump of trees, out of the blistering August sun, talking and sharing the usual summer concert goodies, a ritual many of you know or know of, I’m sure. Just as the party favor was passed to my husband, I spotted a squat, ugly, toad of a man in a uniform striding purposefully up behind Joe, with a nasty glint in his eyes and a smirk on his broad, burnt face. I nudged Joe with my foot and caught his eye, and nodded. Joe got it, and immediately did the sensible thing and knocked the ember off, and swallowed down the remnants in one gulp. The expression on the toad-man’s face turned to a glower of pure hatred. He had wanted so badly to catch Joe in the act of inhaling, but he was thwarted. He snatched Joe by the arm and dragged him up, and growled, “You just had to swallow it, didn’t you, asshole?”
I rose up from the ground in a graceful move I had not been capable of executing for at least a couple of decades. Rent-a-cop supreme primo turned his hate-filled glare to the band of kids we were with and snarled, “Were you taking part in this shit, too?”
I saw a look in the eyes of these wonderful, innocent young people, and saw the goodness in them and the evil in the uniformed rat, and I felt the strangest sensation course into me, an utter calmness, a fearlessness, a voice of my very own.
Something akin to magma rising up the gullet of a volcano spilled up into my mouth from some dormant core inside, and then erupted upon toad man. I stood taller than my actual size (which towered over the troll) and pointed my finger at his chest, and said very plainly, “You will leave these kids alone. They didn’t do anything wrong. It was me and my husband, and they had nothing to do with what we did.”
His eyes hit mine, and he looked away quickly. This thing had no power over me. At that moment, I knew the truth. No one had any power over me but me. I could control my reaction, and I didn’t have to fear the results. I would accept the consequences of my actions from that point on, and I knew it. I watched this pitiful, unloved, reduced to being a pot Nazi cop at concerts creature as he pulled Joe towards the security trailer. I set my jaw, bid farewell to our friends, and stalked off behind toad cop. I felt no tears, no fears, not one bit of guilt or shame. None of that nonsense even came into my mind. I paid no attention to the procedure (writing a citation, some stern words, the taking of Joe’s ticket), but got into a discussion with an older woman over the implied acceptance of marijuana at concerts. She didn’t agree, but I made my point and she quieted down. I even launched into a soap box oration of the very nature of concerts and gatherings and the history of humankind and rituals and the importance of sharing. There were many other people awaiting their pot citations in the trailer. They cheered and agreed loudly with me. The security force stopped lecturing, and glared helplessly at me, for I had not been caught doing anything wrong. One female officer smiled at me, though. Joe was told he would have to turn in his ticket and leave the venue, but I could stay. I look incredulously at them and said, “do you honestly expect me to stay here without my husband?” and handed them my ticket. The woman cop took me and Joe outside, led us to the gate and told us to walk around the tour buses to get to the parking lot, tilting her head to a row of particular buses. We went over there, and it happened to be a hidden way to get next to the temporary barricade that many a person was traveling through. I told Joe, “let’s go over and mingle in the crowd.”
We did, and just walked right back into the venue. We hadn’t missed much of the show, and Flogging Molly was about to come onstage. It was my very first time seeing them. We ended up surrounded by happy, bouncing, moshing fans, and had the best time. It was the most memorable concert of my adult life.
That moment, that one, nearly insignificant moment in time, changed my whole outlook on people, society, my own self. The world no longer looked or felt so harsh, so intimidating. I stopped waiting for hammers, learned how to snag them out of mid-air, and drop them harmlessly to the ground. The splintered fragments of me started to come home, to mend, to become whole. I was not made of glass after all. I found my voice at last, and it was full of song and story and courage and joy. In the months after the concert, I started walking in the daylight instead of after midnight, and did not mind being seen. I talked to people, said hi to strangers, and found a genuine smile to wear. One day in that following March, I decided to go to a local bar known for its excellent Friday fish and partake with other patrons, all by myself. I even had me a beer with my fish. Time passed, and that summer’s concert was a relaxing, anxiety-free affair. We even ran into those same kids, and they remembered us, and hugged us and thanked me for standing up for them. We laughed about it and enjoyed the whole show. The next year, in April, I saw a sign about a big cleanup in Ambridge. I went to it, and met the Committee to Clean And Beautify Ambridge, and I joined. I became a part of something, something big and important. I had Holly join the junior Tamburitzans and became a part of that group of dedicated, proud parents. I have been around thousands of people in unfamiliar places and have not been scared. I became a part of a planning group to create Ambridge’s first go at a community garden, and I get to watch a dream of mine become reality, I hope. I’ve painted trash barrels and a bus stop bench and put my name on them for all to see. I’m not afraid of the attention, as long as I’ve earned the right to be noticed. It feels nice. Because I decided to be a part of something, I’ve met the most wonderful, uplifting, inspiring people. I’m surrounded by positivity and encouragement, drive and creativity, and happiness-such happiness! I cannot help but to be filled with it when I’m with these people. They are balanced, well-adjusted, confident folk, and so am I. And I still write. I write and share it now, because I’ve earned the right to be noticed for it, and I like the way it feels to give this part of me, whole parts, and still remain whole myself.
I still carry a reserved part of me, yes I do. I still don’t really relish getting on the phone with people I don’t know, or meeting someone of importance for the first time. But it’s no longer an overwhelming world to me. I can go outside my comfort zone sometimes if that’s what it takes to get stuff done. If I don’t feel right about something, I even say so now without fear. I don’t back myself into corners anymore, either. I can stand my ground, state my opinion, and offer up suggestions. I can share ideas with others, strike up a conversation with anyone willing to connect. And I will never know why this all happened, and it doesn’t matter, because I am just grateful for this new me. I like being whole, and I love having my own voice. I wear the calm flowing through me now, and I have come to learn to handle my internal raging, too, giving it up to the right people at the right time, where it can do no damage. I know when it’s ok to pull back and stop being a part of everything, too, so I can recharge and refresh and uncoil my wrappings, and be a part of only myself for a bit. Watching me come together over the last several years has been a touching experience. I very much like being a part of instead of apart from. I like being in touch with me, with you, with everyone and everything.
So I will smile, because I’ve heard when you do that, the world smiles with you, and I rather like the thought of a world full of smiles.
Love and Light on your journeys, too, my friends-
Tanya
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Today I Found A Nickel
Having recently purged myself of some creativity-killing negativity, I feel focused and ready to get back to doing what I do-giving you, o gentle reader, visions of subtle beauty, glimpses of the things that go by mostly unnoticed by the rest of the world, because I feel it, and it’s important, and if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t bother. It’s the appreciation of these small wonders that make dealing with the big, scary stuff easier. Imagine if life was nothing more than a long series of the big, scary stuff-you know, the world the media and the politicians want you to believe is the only world there is. On bad days, I’m irritated by this stance, but on good days, I can see the humour of it, and I can turn my back to it, and I can get down to the serious business of enjoying my brief time upon this rock. Lately, those good days have been dominated by the urge to paint our town park onto a trash barrel, so I had to redirect some of that into the random observances that have been staggering around my brain, waiting for my attention.
But for a few brave standouts trying to defy the will of nature, most of the trees have shed their adornments, leaving smatterings of deep chestnut and dull umber. We are past the copper, brass, and rust hues, past the endless rain of leaves drifting down into calico piles, past the sun beaming uncomfortable heat waves upon my back while walking in the afternoons. Unlike some, I don’t get the melancholy this time of year. Somehow, I’ve managed to develop a deep respect and kinship with starkness, and can see the beautiful, intricate lacework of the skeletal branches of the barren trees without a sense of sorrow for the passing of one season to another. Winter doesn’t alarm or depress me. I had to keep to myself about that this past winter, but I vow not to deny my true nature any longer. As miserable as everyone was during the endless frigid blizzards of last year, I secretly danced many a jig in the privacy of my home, whilst maintaining my mumbly-face to the rest of my fellow villagers. I have never had a happier winter, and I will feel the same about this one as well, regardless of the severity or gentility of it. It’s not the weather conditions that dictate my emotions; it’s the changing, the passing of time, the watching of all around me moving in its magically woven pattern.
If details escape your notice, every single day is exactly the same. You don’t see the changing, and it soon becomes difficult for you to change. We weren’t designed to live that way. We were built for evolution, growth, progression. Our senses were made to take in the world around us with utter clarity, our brain meant to process, to churn, to twist and turn and spin and ponder and wonder and be busy. We are beings in need of stimulation to keep us going, keep us reaching and rising to new levels of awareness. Everyday life is not going to hand these things over readily. You have to seek them out with great passion, no matter how tired you are, how weary you feel, how burned out you’ve become, no matter who or what tries to stand in your way. It only takes seconds to notice something miraculous, seconds to process what you’ve seen and to file it away for future musing. Sometimes, the greyest, ugliest November sky will open up in one small area, and the sun will stream down upon a hillside bathed in a coppery glow from late fall trees, and you could be driving by it, distracted by the monotony and misery of the day, and you’ll miss it because you lost sight of what you were put here to do. Beauty is not necessary for survival; it’s a gift. It doesn’t matter where the gift came from, an anonymous donor, or the natural course of events. Beauty is important because it slows the pace of life down just long enough to force you to remember that you are alive. As a wordsmith, I know the worn-out triteness of the phrase “stop and smell the roses”, but honestly, have you ever? I have, many times, over many months. I’ve smelled them first budding in spring, wide open in summer, and fading fast in autumn. Do you have any idea how utterly uplifting that smell is? Just a few seconds of a nose buried deep into a rose bloom is enough to carry my spirit all day. You must try it, promise me you will. It’s everything I say it is and more. That sweet, spicy scent will cling to the back of your throat and linger on your tongue and you will understand at last why that trite phrase has been used so long.
Take a few moments during the next snowfall and freeze time, take away the worry of getting to work, or the store, or the bus stop. Block out the urge to groan, to think about shoveling and salting and ice scraping. Just stop thinking ahead long enough to watch the flakes drift in the wind, to watch the world become blanketed in purity for a while. Stand out in it long enough to hear it muffling the nonsense and the noise, and appreciate it, love it, be grateful for it. Step back into the warmth of your dwelling and feel your face and hands and feet begin to thaw, to glow inside, just under the skin. Sit by a window, just a few minutes, and stare into the murky distance beyond the moving curtain of white.
We live in a society that places too much emphasis doing, accepts too many excuses. No one lives in a constant state of panic motion. Everyone on Earth has moments to spare, to dedicate to the appreciation of beauty. We’ve been conditioned to believe that we don’t have the time, for anything. I’m here to tell you that we do. They lie. There is always time, and it doesn’t always have to be spent doing. You are not wasting time by putting the pause on the over exaggerated pace of life. It’s alright to breathe, to observe, to listen. I give you leave to do this, a hall pass to roam and wander. It’s time to take back our right to notice beauty.
Today I found a nickel, a battered, abused, dirt encrusted nickel. And it is a wonderful nickel indeed. Go watch sunbeams and have a happy.
Love and light,
Tanya
But for a few brave standouts trying to defy the will of nature, most of the trees have shed their adornments, leaving smatterings of deep chestnut and dull umber. We are past the copper, brass, and rust hues, past the endless rain of leaves drifting down into calico piles, past the sun beaming uncomfortable heat waves upon my back while walking in the afternoons. Unlike some, I don’t get the melancholy this time of year. Somehow, I’ve managed to develop a deep respect and kinship with starkness, and can see the beautiful, intricate lacework of the skeletal branches of the barren trees without a sense of sorrow for the passing of one season to another. Winter doesn’t alarm or depress me. I had to keep to myself about that this past winter, but I vow not to deny my true nature any longer. As miserable as everyone was during the endless frigid blizzards of last year, I secretly danced many a jig in the privacy of my home, whilst maintaining my mumbly-face to the rest of my fellow villagers. I have never had a happier winter, and I will feel the same about this one as well, regardless of the severity or gentility of it. It’s not the weather conditions that dictate my emotions; it’s the changing, the passing of time, the watching of all around me moving in its magically woven pattern.
If details escape your notice, every single day is exactly the same. You don’t see the changing, and it soon becomes difficult for you to change. We weren’t designed to live that way. We were built for evolution, growth, progression. Our senses were made to take in the world around us with utter clarity, our brain meant to process, to churn, to twist and turn and spin and ponder and wonder and be busy. We are beings in need of stimulation to keep us going, keep us reaching and rising to new levels of awareness. Everyday life is not going to hand these things over readily. You have to seek them out with great passion, no matter how tired you are, how weary you feel, how burned out you’ve become, no matter who or what tries to stand in your way. It only takes seconds to notice something miraculous, seconds to process what you’ve seen and to file it away for future musing. Sometimes, the greyest, ugliest November sky will open up in one small area, and the sun will stream down upon a hillside bathed in a coppery glow from late fall trees, and you could be driving by it, distracted by the monotony and misery of the day, and you’ll miss it because you lost sight of what you were put here to do. Beauty is not necessary for survival; it’s a gift. It doesn’t matter where the gift came from, an anonymous donor, or the natural course of events. Beauty is important because it slows the pace of life down just long enough to force you to remember that you are alive. As a wordsmith, I know the worn-out triteness of the phrase “stop and smell the roses”, but honestly, have you ever? I have, many times, over many months. I’ve smelled them first budding in spring, wide open in summer, and fading fast in autumn. Do you have any idea how utterly uplifting that smell is? Just a few seconds of a nose buried deep into a rose bloom is enough to carry my spirit all day. You must try it, promise me you will. It’s everything I say it is and more. That sweet, spicy scent will cling to the back of your throat and linger on your tongue and you will understand at last why that trite phrase has been used so long.
Take a few moments during the next snowfall and freeze time, take away the worry of getting to work, or the store, or the bus stop. Block out the urge to groan, to think about shoveling and salting and ice scraping. Just stop thinking ahead long enough to watch the flakes drift in the wind, to watch the world become blanketed in purity for a while. Stand out in it long enough to hear it muffling the nonsense and the noise, and appreciate it, love it, be grateful for it. Step back into the warmth of your dwelling and feel your face and hands and feet begin to thaw, to glow inside, just under the skin. Sit by a window, just a few minutes, and stare into the murky distance beyond the moving curtain of white.
We live in a society that places too much emphasis doing, accepts too many excuses. No one lives in a constant state of panic motion. Everyone on Earth has moments to spare, to dedicate to the appreciation of beauty. We’ve been conditioned to believe that we don’t have the time, for anything. I’m here to tell you that we do. They lie. There is always time, and it doesn’t always have to be spent doing. You are not wasting time by putting the pause on the over exaggerated pace of life. It’s alright to breathe, to observe, to listen. I give you leave to do this, a hall pass to roam and wander. It’s time to take back our right to notice beauty.
Today I found a nickel, a battered, abused, dirt encrusted nickel. And it is a wonderful nickel indeed. Go watch sunbeams and have a happy.
Love and light,
Tanya
Welcome, Little One (for my grandson)
In the grey fleece of winter you came to our world,
Rode in on a sunbeam, slipped into the Time Stream,
So naturally, you have my attention, little one.
Your eyes are forever and real,
They will see futures I dream of today,
You will have claim to the family crest,
And will carry out our star’s mission,
The dust in your bloodlines,
Ancient and distant, well-traveled,
Persistent,
In the midst of the grandest of journeys-
It will call to you, guide you,
Like so many before you,
One day, you will stand in my stead,
Speak for us who will leave this world,
Represent your own history,
And, I hope, will do so proudly.
I will give you my wisdom, my witticisms,
And fill you with lore, with fine tales
Of your colorful ancestors,
I will teach you to open yourself fully
To what life has to offer
So you will always feel whole, and loved,
And fulfilled.
But for now, I shall coddle,
Pamper and coo, tickle and giggle,
And kiss your forehead.
Little one.
With so much promise,
So much newness,
A vessel alive, waiting to be filled
With all of my heart’s contents.
Rode in on a sunbeam, slipped into the Time Stream,
So naturally, you have my attention, little one.
Your eyes are forever and real,
They will see futures I dream of today,
You will have claim to the family crest,
And will carry out our star’s mission,
The dust in your bloodlines,
Ancient and distant, well-traveled,
Persistent,
In the midst of the grandest of journeys-
It will call to you, guide you,
Like so many before you,
One day, you will stand in my stead,
Speak for us who will leave this world,
Represent your own history,
And, I hope, will do so proudly.
I will give you my wisdom, my witticisms,
And fill you with lore, with fine tales
Of your colorful ancestors,
I will teach you to open yourself fully
To what life has to offer
So you will always feel whole, and loved,
And fulfilled.
But for now, I shall coddle,
Pamper and coo, tickle and giggle,
And kiss your forehead.
Little one.
With so much promise,
So much newness,
A vessel alive, waiting to be filled
With all of my heart’s contents.
McConnell's Mill
I drifted further away
Than I intended to today
And I cannot deny
I so enjoyed the ride
Down old, familiar, childhood mind
Fixated on creation,
Focused on pure fantasy,
Oblivious to impending reality.
Blue herons, waterfalls,
Gentle wispy hemlocks,
Glacier-torn jumbles
Of primeval Earthly Bones,
Ferns and fairies,
Quicksand pits to poke with sticks,
Leaping ibex-style along the edges
Of white and rain-dimmed waters.
A girlchild, purple-clad, wild-haired,
Hunched over a patch of silt,
Intensely studying what no one else sees,
But for me, I know, I connect
Completely to this part of my being,
I disconnect with everything
Of great unimportance
To remember how grand the world can be.
To breathe in awe and exhale glory,
To just let the story write its own course
Down the mountain gorge.
The hushed and muffled rush
From beneath the covered bridge,
The bubble-bloop around mossy rocks
Dabbled and splashed in midstream.
Amazed by green and big
And air and clarity,
In tune with inside,
A part of outside,
Now and here and awake and alive.
So sweet, so soft, so comforting,
Warm and peace, inviting,
Shared by three generations
In the place it all began for me.
Now, home feels easier,
Lighter, more like sanctuary,
A building-up of good days
In a girlchild's future memories.
Than I intended to today
And I cannot deny
I so enjoyed the ride
Down old, familiar, childhood mind
Fixated on creation,
Focused on pure fantasy,
Oblivious to impending reality.
Blue herons, waterfalls,
Gentle wispy hemlocks,
Glacier-torn jumbles
Of primeval Earthly Bones,
Ferns and fairies,
Quicksand pits to poke with sticks,
Leaping ibex-style along the edges
Of white and rain-dimmed waters.
A girlchild, purple-clad, wild-haired,
Hunched over a patch of silt,
Intensely studying what no one else sees,
But for me, I know, I connect
Completely to this part of my being,
I disconnect with everything
Of great unimportance
To remember how grand the world can be.
To breathe in awe and exhale glory,
To just let the story write its own course
Down the mountain gorge.
The hushed and muffled rush
From beneath the covered bridge,
The bubble-bloop around mossy rocks
Dabbled and splashed in midstream.
Amazed by green and big
And air and clarity,
In tune with inside,
A part of outside,
Now and here and awake and alive.
So sweet, so soft, so comforting,
Warm and peace, inviting,
Shared by three generations
In the place it all began for me.
Now, home feels easier,
Lighter, more like sanctuary,
A building-up of good days
In a girlchild's future memories.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Of Joe And Golden Ages
A significant milestone is fast approaching, one that requires pause and acknowledgement. Soon, Joe and I will have been together for ten years. We came into being as an entwined entity on January 7th of 2000. Our relationship itself is a miracle, a perfect culmination of timing and circumstance and karma. The simple fact of cohabitation with someone for that long is quite an accomplishment, as anyone involved with someone for the long haul knows. I can say with a generous dose of candidness that I am not an easy creature to share space with. I know I expect much from a mate, and it takes someone of almost super-human inner strength to walk beside me on this path. I just happened to get lucky this go-round and I found Joe. So I feel that now is the time to honor that and pay tribute to an incredible man who strives every single day to not only meet my expectations but to exceed them.
Not enough people in this age understand how valuable hard work is, and hard work is grossly undervalued in society. Joe’s unique experiences in his lifetime gave him a work ethic like no other, a true hunky nature, the quintessential laborer of old. But something about him is wired differently than the standard grunt in the proverbial trenches. Joe has a fire in his spirit that genuinely burns from the physicality of brutal, fast-paced labor, a fire that sparks great intelligence and profound memory skills. His knowledge of sports, movies, actors and roles, music and musicians, figures and statistics is utterly amazing. His grasp of world events and politics is deep. The complexities and levels in Joe are still a mystery to me, yet he is the simplest person, never wanting more out of life than comfort, love, and encouragement. He doesn’t ask for more than he is willing to work for, but he does expect to be compensated for his efforts, and too many times, the system shorts him out of that gratitude. It causes him restless nights and worrisome days, not because hard times may cause him to want or need, because hard times may cause his small family to want or need. He fights hard every day, knowing there will probably not be a time when he will be recognized, and still he is undeterred.
There are days Joe is the only person I want to talk with. From the early budding stages of our relationship, he has been able to match wits with me, has been the first to get my one-liners and laugh, the best listener, the most interesting responder. Two-way communication on equal footing is paramount to me. Thou shalt be able to carry on a real conversation with me. We watch football together on Sundays, and between the two of us, we are more funny and far quicker than any announce team out there. It is a true joy, a bonding I never had until we met. We share opinions, and he can express himself easily, naturally, just like me. We have grand and glorious arguments, and though heated, they are often insightful, for both of us. I know when the grind of the day has gotten to him, for he cannot chatter on or give me full attention, and I know better than to be upset by this.
Most people who know him can see how much he has changed since we found each other. He’s solid, stable, strong and proud, but decent, humble, and kind. These were all components of him before, but now they are whole, working together to complete the picture. But some of you may not know how much I have changed since we met. I’ve been tempered, tamed, calmed. I’ve learned to be generous and open, but not foolish and vulnerable. I’ve found my voice, and I am no longer terrified to use it. I’ve learned to be penny-wise and frugal, and still enjoy life by finding peace in the everyday process of living. Joe has given me backing so I could learn to shine; he has given me stability so I could search the turmoil of my own soul and finally put myself together. And most important, Joe has given me time, the most valuable treasure of all. Because of all his efforts, I am free to pursue any avenue I fancy. I can write, I can bake and cook, I can paint, I can make music, I can dance and sing, I can walk, and I can take care of everything he has given me-another daughter, a home to putter about in, animals, and him. I care for him, for I care about him, and he matters. And maybe I should tell him that more, but sometimes I don’t have all the words. So I happily tend to the wash and the dishes (well, not so happily the dishes, but at least with grudging respect) and the housework. And I gleefully cook meals I know he will eat, for he is open to anything I prepare and he praises my abilities and never complains, whether I make beef stroganoff from scratch or hot dogs and boxed mac and cheese. He gives me everything he can to make sure I always have what I need to make the foods I want to serve. And I do all I can do to give him the comfort, love, and encouragement he needs. That is what has changed in me since knowing Joe-a shift away from self-centrism. I can give, of myself and my time, and I can balance it all because of all this man does out of love for his family.
So ten years have passed, and here we are, Joe and I. We’ve traveled down dark roads into hairy situations together, side by side. We’ve defended one another, protected one another, bolstered up one another. We’ve laughed to tears and shed them in sorrow together. We’ve been through blizzards and hurricane remnant floods and blistering summers together. We’ve outlasted and outgrown friendships with some folks, and formed new ones with new folks. We’ve been to new places and shared new ideas and brought new life into this world together. We’ve grown and learned and changed and matured, yet both of us have managed to stay true to our natures, to be the essence of who we are as individuals. It’s been a golden age, these past ten years, and already I know it will keep getting better. In a rare, prescient moment, I saw our future clearly, and, though I won’t spoil the ending for you all too much, I can tell you it’s a happy…(never)ending.
Love and light,
Tanya
Not enough people in this age understand how valuable hard work is, and hard work is grossly undervalued in society. Joe’s unique experiences in his lifetime gave him a work ethic like no other, a true hunky nature, the quintessential laborer of old. But something about him is wired differently than the standard grunt in the proverbial trenches. Joe has a fire in his spirit that genuinely burns from the physicality of brutal, fast-paced labor, a fire that sparks great intelligence and profound memory skills. His knowledge of sports, movies, actors and roles, music and musicians, figures and statistics is utterly amazing. His grasp of world events and politics is deep. The complexities and levels in Joe are still a mystery to me, yet he is the simplest person, never wanting more out of life than comfort, love, and encouragement. He doesn’t ask for more than he is willing to work for, but he does expect to be compensated for his efforts, and too many times, the system shorts him out of that gratitude. It causes him restless nights and worrisome days, not because hard times may cause him to want or need, because hard times may cause his small family to want or need. He fights hard every day, knowing there will probably not be a time when he will be recognized, and still he is undeterred.
There are days Joe is the only person I want to talk with. From the early budding stages of our relationship, he has been able to match wits with me, has been the first to get my one-liners and laugh, the best listener, the most interesting responder. Two-way communication on equal footing is paramount to me. Thou shalt be able to carry on a real conversation with me. We watch football together on Sundays, and between the two of us, we are more funny and far quicker than any announce team out there. It is a true joy, a bonding I never had until we met. We share opinions, and he can express himself easily, naturally, just like me. We have grand and glorious arguments, and though heated, they are often insightful, for both of us. I know when the grind of the day has gotten to him, for he cannot chatter on or give me full attention, and I know better than to be upset by this.
Most people who know him can see how much he has changed since we found each other. He’s solid, stable, strong and proud, but decent, humble, and kind. These were all components of him before, but now they are whole, working together to complete the picture. But some of you may not know how much I have changed since we met. I’ve been tempered, tamed, calmed. I’ve learned to be generous and open, but not foolish and vulnerable. I’ve found my voice, and I am no longer terrified to use it. I’ve learned to be penny-wise and frugal, and still enjoy life by finding peace in the everyday process of living. Joe has given me backing so I could learn to shine; he has given me stability so I could search the turmoil of my own soul and finally put myself together. And most important, Joe has given me time, the most valuable treasure of all. Because of all his efforts, I am free to pursue any avenue I fancy. I can write, I can bake and cook, I can paint, I can make music, I can dance and sing, I can walk, and I can take care of everything he has given me-another daughter, a home to putter about in, animals, and him. I care for him, for I care about him, and he matters. And maybe I should tell him that more, but sometimes I don’t have all the words. So I happily tend to the wash and the dishes (well, not so happily the dishes, but at least with grudging respect) and the housework. And I gleefully cook meals I know he will eat, for he is open to anything I prepare and he praises my abilities and never complains, whether I make beef stroganoff from scratch or hot dogs and boxed mac and cheese. He gives me everything he can to make sure I always have what I need to make the foods I want to serve. And I do all I can do to give him the comfort, love, and encouragement he needs. That is what has changed in me since knowing Joe-a shift away from self-centrism. I can give, of myself and my time, and I can balance it all because of all this man does out of love for his family.
So ten years have passed, and here we are, Joe and I. We’ve traveled down dark roads into hairy situations together, side by side. We’ve defended one another, protected one another, bolstered up one another. We’ve laughed to tears and shed them in sorrow together. We’ve been through blizzards and hurricane remnant floods and blistering summers together. We’ve outlasted and outgrown friendships with some folks, and formed new ones with new folks. We’ve been to new places and shared new ideas and brought new life into this world together. We’ve grown and learned and changed and matured, yet both of us have managed to stay true to our natures, to be the essence of who we are as individuals. It’s been a golden age, these past ten years, and already I know it will keep getting better. In a rare, prescient moment, I saw our future clearly, and, though I won’t spoil the ending for you all too much, I can tell you it’s a happy…(never)ending.
Love and light,
Tanya
Just Musing And Breathing And Being
There is beauty in familiarity, wonder in routine, awe in the ordinary. I take many a life lesson from the dog. Today we moved along familiar streets, on our routine walk, doing ordinary daily things. Yet, there is always something different to be found, and Brou will invariably find it, like the new grey kitty who crossed our path, and the mouth-watering aroma of pizza dough baking and sauce cooking from Police Station Pizza because we just happened to be lucky enough to be walking by just then, and the crispy croush crish sound from the carpet of fallen, drying leaves as we bounded and shuffled through them, and the muted and quickly fading warmth of the Indian Summer sun. Little miracles, these moments I so treasure.
How do I go about sharing these sensations of joy and contentment with my fellow harried, Earth-bound travelers? Who will take time from their tumultouous, hectic day to wrench themselves from their reality and plunge themselves into mine?
All these seemingly insignificant events are monumental in my eyes, because of the setting they are in, because of the familiarity of the surroundings. I see my world in a whole new light every day because every day the light is different. I take in as much as my senses can process and hope to capture enough of it to jot down some descriptive words in the off chance I can find eyes as wide open as my own to read the words. I hope for someone else to care as deeply as I do about the scritcha-clatta-squeaka-reeak of the train passing by below me. I want someone else to share this childish giggle of delight when the swing is pushed for them. I wish for someone to notice the deepening slant of late October sunrays through the stand of oaks and maples in the park on a Thursday afternoon at 5.
These things are important-they hold meaning and not just for me. Life passes by without much time for reflection and observation, until far too many memories are eaten away by time. I don't want to just remember the milestones-I want to remember the individual mile markers, and the reflectors, and the guardrails, and the road, and the grass, and the trees, and the passing cars as well. It all matters. There would be absolutely no point in putting all this before me if I wasn't meant to hold onto as much of it as possible in my memory. I would not be so inspired to write it all down if no one was ever meant to read it and to understand why it was written.
So here it is-a link to the world around me and around all of you. This is why we live, why we are. We are meant to experience, to observe, to learn, to stand in thunderstruck awe and let our mouths hang agape and drink in all the details.
And if you really want to understand this completely, get a dog. Make sure he loves to walk a great deal (most do). Take him to a place he can roam freely a bit, and watch what he does. Go back to this place many, many times, and just watch for a while. It will be a whole new journey for the dog, and for you, every time. Watch the pure light of joy the dog exudes, and you will feel the same. You'll find you'll want to hang on to every detail of every day, because every day the details are different. And you will find that life will slow a bit, just a bit, and give you some time to just...be.
Then write about it and post it, and I promise you, I will read it, because I get it, and I know how important these moments of your life are.
Beauty in familiarity.
Wonder in routine.
Awe in the ordinary.
Your faithful correspondent,
Tanya
How do I go about sharing these sensations of joy and contentment with my fellow harried, Earth-bound travelers? Who will take time from their tumultouous, hectic day to wrench themselves from their reality and plunge themselves into mine?
All these seemingly insignificant events are monumental in my eyes, because of the setting they are in, because of the familiarity of the surroundings. I see my world in a whole new light every day because every day the light is different. I take in as much as my senses can process and hope to capture enough of it to jot down some descriptive words in the off chance I can find eyes as wide open as my own to read the words. I hope for someone else to care as deeply as I do about the scritcha-clatta-squeaka-reeak of the train passing by below me. I want someone else to share this childish giggle of delight when the swing is pushed for them. I wish for someone to notice the deepening slant of late October sunrays through the stand of oaks and maples in the park on a Thursday afternoon at 5.
These things are important-they hold meaning and not just for me. Life passes by without much time for reflection and observation, until far too many memories are eaten away by time. I don't want to just remember the milestones-I want to remember the individual mile markers, and the reflectors, and the guardrails, and the road, and the grass, and the trees, and the passing cars as well. It all matters. There would be absolutely no point in putting all this before me if I wasn't meant to hold onto as much of it as possible in my memory. I would not be so inspired to write it all down if no one was ever meant to read it and to understand why it was written.
So here it is-a link to the world around me and around all of you. This is why we live, why we are. We are meant to experience, to observe, to learn, to stand in thunderstruck awe and let our mouths hang agape and drink in all the details.
And if you really want to understand this completely, get a dog. Make sure he loves to walk a great deal (most do). Take him to a place he can roam freely a bit, and watch what he does. Go back to this place many, many times, and just watch for a while. It will be a whole new journey for the dog, and for you, every time. Watch the pure light of joy the dog exudes, and you will feel the same. You'll find you'll want to hang on to every detail of every day, because every day the details are different. And you will find that life will slow a bit, just a bit, and give you some time to just...be.
Then write about it and post it, and I promise you, I will read it, because I get it, and I know how important these moments of your life are.
Beauty in familiarity.
Wonder in routine.
Awe in the ordinary.
Your faithful correspondent,
Tanya
Clearing The Air
At last, two full days of glorious blue skies and dry, warmer winds from the North and West. This is greatly appreciated by me, and my hope is it will ease the prickletiness hanging above everything. I can smell the crispness of linens snapping in a stiff breeze on a March afternoon. I can feel the building warmth absorbing in the earth, awakening life and renewing the cycle. I can taste spring greens soup and lavender cookies. I can hear the chaotic melodies and harmonies of multitudes of returning birds, all singing in praise and gratitude for the wonders of spring. It’s coming, gods bless, it is coming. Though we may yet have howling, wicked winds, driving snow storms, and sheets of ice, the inevitable is there, in the air, riding in the carefree winds of this day. I see life about to arise, to take back the Northern Hemisphere. Joy!
With a bit of sunshine and loud Basque music and several whirling trips across my living room, I’m starting to return to my more comfortable form, the gentler mama bear, and not the snarling, defensive, sleepy bear who wishes not to be disturbed. I’m even coming to terms with other people’s ill-tempered behaviour. I can avoid, or I can walk away, or I can face it head-on, or I can laugh, or I can cry. In fact, there are boundless choices to cope with this, and I prefer not to judge one as more appropriate than the others. In each case, any course of action may be the best option, or no course of action. I think I am done analyzing it and will opt to go wherever the current of the day sweeps me. Today I feel like smiling a bit, and shedding a few tears of relief and joy and nostalgia. Perhaps I may even leave the constraints of my abode and venture to the shoppes for craft supplies and new shoes and groceries. Or continue being engrossed in learning the art of curling on the Olympics channel, whatever. The point is the sun is warm, the snow is melting, and so, hopefully, is the ice encrusting people’s hearts.
If ever I needed some tangible proof of a spiritual plane and a godish, or goddessish being, here it is-a day like this, timed like this. After being pushed to the brink of despair, I can step back and just enjoy the view.
Love and light to everyone,
Tanya
With a bit of sunshine and loud Basque music and several whirling trips across my living room, I’m starting to return to my more comfortable form, the gentler mama bear, and not the snarling, defensive, sleepy bear who wishes not to be disturbed. I’m even coming to terms with other people’s ill-tempered behaviour. I can avoid, or I can walk away, or I can face it head-on, or I can laugh, or I can cry. In fact, there are boundless choices to cope with this, and I prefer not to judge one as more appropriate than the others. In each case, any course of action may be the best option, or no course of action. I think I am done analyzing it and will opt to go wherever the current of the day sweeps me. Today I feel like smiling a bit, and shedding a few tears of relief and joy and nostalgia. Perhaps I may even leave the constraints of my abode and venture to the shoppes for craft supplies and new shoes and groceries. Or continue being engrossed in learning the art of curling on the Olympics channel, whatever. The point is the sun is warm, the snow is melting, and so, hopefully, is the ice encrusting people’s hearts.
If ever I needed some tangible proof of a spiritual plane and a godish, or goddessish being, here it is-a day like this, timed like this. After being pushed to the brink of despair, I can step back and just enjoy the view.
Love and light to everyone,
Tanya
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